ghost towns
by Dyrne-Faemne
Summary: Dean and Sam are out west checking out old western ghost towns. Tourist are disappearing. The brothers are on the trail...
1. trapped

Dean stood there, in his jeans, pale blue long sleeved shirt, and boots. Across from him on the dusty street was a man that was the embodiment of mean; tall, dark with a long jagged scar running down the right side of his face. He stood there, his cold eyes burning into Deans.

The deputy had run for the sheriff, as the townspeople stood watching, whispering among themselves. Some making bets on the outcome on this day, July 16, 1871.

"Danny boy, ya goin ta die, and everyone will know that I kilt ya."

"You couldn't beat my grandma, " said Dean softly.

Kyle Branson went for his gun, and Dean drew as both fired. Poofs of white smoke rose into the air. Just as the sheriff ran out a look of panic on his face, as he yelled, "Dean!"

Two men lay in the street when the air cleared, one with blood pooling rapidly around the lifeless body and the other one with a busted wing. Sam ran over to his brother, and gently turned him over, "Dean?"

Dean opened his pain-filled eyes and looked up at his brother. "Did I win?"

"Yeah, you won. What were you thinking?"

"He challenged me, I ain't a coward Sam." Dean's voice had hardened as he squinted up at his brother. Sam stood and held out his hand to his brother and helped him to his feet.

"Never said you were, but he is or was a professional gunslinger. You could have been killed." Sam's fear for Dean reached his brother, and he sighed.

"I know Sam, sorry I worried you. But I can't hide. We have to solve this thing, before we can return to our time. We are trapped here."

"I know, let's go see the Doc."

"Nah I can take the bullet out, I hate doctors."

"Yeah well you ain't taking that one out, let the doc do it." He grabbed Dean's good arm and led him away, and two men picked up the body and carried it towards the undertaker. The tall skinny man waited with a smile on his face, with his sharp eyes measuring the dead man.

00000000000

It had all started several days ago, when Dean had wanted to visit some old western ghost towns in the area. Mainly he wanted to visit the one famous for the fight at the ok corral. Dean had more interested when he came across rumors of people disappearing in the area. Sam's research had revealed that in all 20 tourists had vanished in the past six months in that area never to be seen again.

Sam had been a bit reluctant to go, but Dean was adamant about it. He just had to see for himself. What a mistake that had been. For when they had entered, they found themselves stuck in another dimension. Where outlaws, lawmen, and honest people from the 1800s still existed, and they had to find the one who caused it and stop them. Solve the puzzle and get free.

Sam had found himself to be the Sheriff, by the name of Matt Fletcher, and Dean was a cocky gunfighter named, Danny Hunter. So now, they looked for answers.

0000000000

Sam had just put a pot of stew on the table as he and Dean dug in hungrily. At least the house was private and they could talk and get away from some of the danger. The slightly overdone biscuits and the undercooked stew were filling, as Sam didn't know much about using the old cast iron stove.

Dean ate in silence for a few minutes thinking, as Sam drank some coffee, wished he had the answers. "Sam, you know, it has to be one of the people here, and I think it is probably one of the outlaws."

"Could be, who is the most evil in this town?"

"Nat Campbell, Flint, or Razor Martin take your pick. This town is full of them. If we stay here too long we are going to end up in boot hill. Have you come across anyone who might be from our time?"

"None that I know of, maybe they think they are from this time?"

"Maybe and maybe they are all up in boot hill." Sam thought about that and then turned back to his dinner. Dean could cook the next meal he thought.

After dinner the two went to bed, the two small bedrooms weren't big but they would do. Both fell asleep quickly, and dreamed.


	2. dreams

Sam's dreams filled with blood and gore, as he tossed restlessly in his small narrow bed. Dean faced Branson again, and this time he died with a bullet right between his eyes. As he stood with a surprised look on his face, he turned to Sam… "Why Sammy?" Then he collapsed into the dusty street, as Branson moved to the saloon for a drink and to brag about his new reputation. Sam awoke in a cold sweat, sitting up looking around the room. He was relieved it was merely a dream, and not reality.

Dean lay in his bed dreaming, but there was a smile on his face. In his dream, a pretty girl was talking to him, and inviting him to the local dance on Saturday. He had saved her from a drunk, who had tried to take liberties with the pretty girl. He had then carried her packages for her, and instead of making fun of him, she had asked him out. He tipped his hat to her, and still smiling he walked away.

But when Dean opened his eyes, he realized it had been a dream. Ah well, he would see if there was such a girl in town. Then he sobered as he thought of yesterday. The room was dark, only a touch of moonlight fell on his blanket. 'What the hell did I do? Nevertheless, it was so much like when I was a kid playing cowboys. Yet it could have left my little brother all alone here.' He put his long legs over the side of the bed, and stretched. Going over to the small table, he poured water into the basin and washed his face.

He had to find the answers and get out of here; someone might have stolen his car by now. That was something he couldn't replace, and a horse just wasn't the same. He turned and picked up the pale yellow shirt from the back of the straight wooden chair. He ran a hand down his abs and wondered if he could find something to use for weights. Had to look good, and be in shape. He put his shirt on and went into the other room, and found it dark and empty. He went over to the old stove and put a few pieces of wood and kindling in, and with the poker, he stoked it into a blaze.

He found himself staring at the flames, lost in thought. Lost in a past where flames had destroyed the one woman he had truly loved, his mom. He was afraid to love any girl, afraid she would die like his mom. A part of him still thought his dad was hiding something from him. That there was some kind of curse on his family, and dad didn't want them to know. He wondered why it destroyed the loves of the males of the family. Why were their stomachs torn out, were they pregnant, mom and Jessica? With girls? No females allowed in their family? He wanted to get rid of the curse, and find someone to love. Someone he be himself, and be loved for him. He wanted someone like mom, a good girl who could make good milkshakes.

He moved away from the stove and began to get things together for breakfast. The morning light was just rising over the windowsill and he knew Sammy would be up soon.

Sam ambled into the kitchen wondering why Dean was up and cooking. Dean was standing at the stove stirring the eggs, and nibbling on a piece of bacon. He felt his stomach rumble as he sat down at the table. His older brother turned and smiled at him.

"Morning sleepy head."

"Morning early bird. Why are you so early Dean, it's not even noon yet."

Dean brought the pan over and the plate, putting eggs into the two plates, and then putting the pan on the table he sat down. Sam poured them a cup of coffee, as Dean reached for the plate of bacon. "Dean I think I only see two pieces of shell in the eggs."

Dean smiled, and reached over and smacked his brother on the head. "You do not; I picked them out before I put them in the pan. Eat up; you have a long day Sheriff. I have to find a demon or whatever and whip his ass."

"Not without me you aren't."

"Yeah I am, see when I woke last night I saw something. Out my window, I could see the cemetery, and there was a light out there last night, and some orbs. Going to check it out tonight and a couple of our nasty neighbors today."

Dean stood up and took his gunbelt off the back of the chair strapped it on, tying it low on his right hip. Then grabbed his hat. Sam was worried about Dean, as he watched his swagger out the door. He got up and took the dishes to the sink, and began to pump some water; he had to get to the office soon.

Dean moved down the street, whistling. The man who ran the mercantile store was putting barrels outside, and hanging lanterns. He could smell something good coming from the café he past, and thought about going there for lunch. A few people were out, and a few riders past him, and a wagon.

The older Winchester was unaware of the eyes following him, from the second story balcony of the saloon. Though he felt the chill and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he looked towards an alley way, the one that lead to the ok corral…he felt something sinister watching him from there. He turned and headed towards it.

"Come on you coward, face me. Scared of the Winchesters? You should be, we are the best hunters around. Come on, let's end this now. I want to get out of here by lunch time."

"You will die, Dean Winchester." The voice was hollow and it came from everywhere and nowhere. Dean walked into the corral, which was rather small, for the famous gunfight to have happened there. No room to move, ah well. It would do for a showdown with this thing. He saw a shadow come out of a shadow, it moved slowly towards him. It took the form of a hideous thing; it wore a gun tied low. "You will die today…those you killed are waiting for you on the other side."

Dean just smiled, and checked his gun. He had dipped his bullets in salt water, holy water, a blessing, and a spell on them. He was ready. He stood facing the thing. He watched the eyes, the burning eyes that seemed to be on fire, and he smelled the sulfur burning. "Man you stink, you should use some deodorant."


End file.
